All in a Day's Work, Sir!
by sadly-swedish
Summary: (This fanfiction was written for the Professor Layton Big Bang Event). Swift was always a punctual agent that had no trouble keeping up with the hectic office life he has in Targent. However, when he begins slacking, Bronev realises he must give the boy a chance to redeem himself before they go off to Misthallery to find something to do with the Azran. Will he be able to?


Swift's feet pounded against the grassy ground again, every blade feeling like a new thread of life under his bare feet. He felt the air rush past him, its breathy whispers drawing him closer to freedom. He felt the touch of the warm suns rays against his exposed skin, the daylight was a happy melody. This was it. He had left The Nest to look for peace, and here in this field was where he found it. His wings felt free, no uniform to hold them down. He let the wind spiral through his already messy blond hair and the way it felt was like a breath of heaven.

Then he woke up.

Swift looked around, letting out a heavy breath. He was back at The Nest, laying in his uncomfortable agency bed. The sheets were tugging at his skin, each little mislayed strand of fabric trying to grab at his arms. He groaned, sitting up and shaking out his hair. It was unusual that he had had such a dream, as usually every time it was a nightmare. He would wake up screaming or crying, or sometimes he would wake up and vomit, but this was different. He felt serene, like there was a sense of being safe and happy. Maybe it was his own mind trying to reassure him that everything was okay, but maybe it was his thoughts spiralling into one messy concoction. Why did he feel so calm? He had no idea. Anyway, he had things to do, and with time running faster than he could keep up with, he would have to get dressed quickly.

He bolted out of his apartment room after realising the time, and kept a steady pace as he headed for the Obsidian Tower, watching the road go past and wishing he hadn't slept in. It was just that he was so far through his pleasant dream that he didn't realise he was actually asleep.

He got to the Obsidian Tower, saluting to his commander, Bronev. He had the look of confusion on his face, as if perhaps he had been wondering where his usually always punctual second-in-command was. He glared at him from behind his dark sunglasses, snarling at the young man as if he had committed a crime.

"Where on earth have you been, Swift. Don't you ever set an alarm?" Bronev asked, leaning back in his office chair and pointing to the one opposite, gesturing the other to sit. Swift took the chair willingly and stared back at his commander, trying to look less embarrassed. He couldn't believe it. He was late for once in his life. This wasn't too big of a deal, of course, as Bronev was forgiving towards his second-in-command.

"I overslept, sir. Careless of me, I know, sir. My apologies, sir." Swift said, keeping to his usual calm and polite way of speaking. Bronev nodded, and passed a few files forward, each stamped red to signify they were outdated and needed to be worked on. Swift let out a heavy sigh and wished he _had_ stayed asleep. Then he would have been punished in…a possibly more exciting way.

He sat down at his desk, on the opposite side of the room from his boss, looking each file over and trying to understand what it was he needed to rewrite. It was his at the top, and so clearly he had to change nearly every detail. They had certainly changed since he joined the organisation, that was for sure. He didn't know where to start, and he could already feel a headache coming on.

He finally finished, throwing his head back and letting out a groan. Bronev glanced at him from across the room, letting out a little chuckle at the man's frustration.

"Swift, come here and read this for me." He asked, beckoning the other with a gesture most used for dogs. Swift rolled his eyes and got up slowly, joining Bronev on his side of the room. The commander put his arm around Swift's waist, holding him closer.

"I don't like you touching me there, sir. Can you take your hands off me, sir?" Swift asked, trying to stay professional as opposed to crying or yelling.

Bronev moved his hand down a little, resting it on Swift's hip and pulling him down to sit on his lap. He hadn't listened, but that was always the case. At least Swift had obliged to the all too quick movement. He didn't like standing anyway.

After reading a mess of letters and words all making up something he couldn't understand, Swift felt even worse than he had when trying to edit files he had been given. He felt almost dizzy. He would be glad to get back to his room and go back to sleep again to think of the things he had been before the beginning of his exhausting day. The sad truth was, however, that he still had half of the day left to go, and that meant target shooting, combat training and yelling. He couldn't do _all_ _that_ in just three hours. He was already tired, and holding a gun when you're too tired to focus is not the best idea. He would just have to suck it up, though. He never backed down.

Swift sighed, watching another agent shoot slightly off target and hit the wall in a sad defeat. The agent he was watching was Raven. A tall, black haired agent with the saddest expression of them all. He looked dead, his skin too pale for him to be human, and his dark brown eyes looked black from certain angles. Swift was convinced that the boy was secretly a vampire. He _was_ Romanian and _that_ stereotype seemed to pop up everywhere. Raven huffed, passing the gun back to Swift and screaming in frustration, kicking up some of the gravelled path. Swift chuckled, passing the pistol to the next person and checking their aim also. It was a normal process, for the second-in-command to watch every agent before he himself had a go.

He held the larger gun up, positioning it along with himself and looking through the scope at the wall opposite. Semi-automatic rifles were an easy task for him, as he had learnt how to use heavy weapons early on in his career as an agent in Targent. He placed it on the tripod, biting his lip and pulling the trigger twice. Six bullets hit out at the target, all accurately placed, each one better than the last. He stood up, triumphant and saluted to a bunch of agents who had been watching in awe. One man nearly buckled at the knees, fanning his face and looking at the commander as if the man were a fallen angel.

"Wow, sir." He gasped, almost like he couldn't speak by sheer shock of seeing the power his second-in-command had. Swift smirked, and made for where he needed to be next.

Combat training was his least favourite thing. It wasn't that he wasn't good at it, it was just that he hated being put up against an inexperienced agent. He didn't want for them to be hurt, but at the same time he had to show to Bronev that he was a capable fighter so he could keep his position as the second-in-command. He didn't liking having to prove his worth in combat training with the way Bronev kept the man. It was a long story, and Swift would rather not go on about it. He pulled off his boots and pinned back his hair, taking off his jacket. He hated this part. He knew his sleeves of his top were long, but they had to be rolled up too, and his scars would be shown to the other agent. Luckily, he was up against a friend. That friend, was Magpie. Magpie was Bronev's adopted son. He was shorter than Swift, of course, and had deep black hair and light eyes. They seemed to sparkle under the dim lights the room had got installed. Perhaps the lighting was dim so either agent could use the element of surprise on the other. Magpie swung at Swift first, attempting to knock the blond over, but it backfired when he was kicked sharply in the side, rendering him a mess on the floor as if for a quick minute.

Swift chuckled, grabbing the other's arm and swinging him down again before he was wrestled to the floor, Magpie now on top of him with a grin on his face.

"Got you, sir!" He laughed, and pinched one of Swift's cheeks, trying to make him look like he was smiling. Swift chuckled, sitting up when he was released from under the other.

"Good form you had there, Magpie. I'm impressed," Swift said, ruffling out his hair and patting the other on the head gently. Magpie nodded happily. He was glad, it appeared.

Swift was back to where he started, wishing he had stayed in bed the whole day. His arms ached, his sides hurt, his head was spinning, and his wings were starting to feel more restricted than usual. He just wished he could be in his little dreamland again. Even the thought of laying in bed with his wings stretched out sounded good at this point. Though, he still had to continue with yelling commands to agents. He wasn't prepared to lose his voice for another whole week, because if he did he would be rendered useless if Bronev had to go out. He groaned, and decide that he would just report to office, sign out and go back to his apartment room for a long shower and a nap. He was most likely signed up to work the night shift with Plover, but even that seemed like a drag when all he wanted to was to drink and stop thinking about things for the night. He didn't hate Plover, but that man told worse jokes than an underappreciated father.

He saluted to his commander, and stood up straight. The man looked him over, assessing the amount of work done by the way Swift looked. Swift had ran back to the Obsidian Tower, and so hoped his heavy breathing would also work as a slight distraction and make Bronev think he had been busy, which he had.

"Well done, Agent Swift. Now, you're on the nightshift, 2200 to 0300. Is that clear?" Bronev asked, Swift hated it when he had to remember times in the 24 hour clock, but luckily he knew it was 10 at night until 3 in the morning, and no way in hell was he going to be doing _that_.

"No, sir! I want to go home, sir." Swift said. He had to be blunt sometimes, and say how he truly felt. He had to admit that what he wanted was to go home to his apartment to have a beer, a cigarette and then go to bed. He glanced at the time. 7 in the evening. He would have to go and get something to eat from the rundown cafe on the way back to his apartment. That was, if he was going to be allowed back.

"Home? Agent Swift, if you haven't forgotten, you are given orders and you must follow those orders, I want to see you at 10, on the dot and quick sharp. Am I understood?" Bronev asked again, leaning forward in his chair and watching to see if Swift flinched in any way. He didn't, of course. He was tough like that.

"No, sir. I feel sick, sir." Swift said. That was all that was needed, an honest answer. His head was still spinning, along with the room around him, and his stomach panged painfully.

Bronev looked at him, concerned slightly. He looked at the agent to see if he were lying, but Swift showed no signs of doing so.

"You do? Well, go. You need to eat more often." Bronev said. Swift had to agree with his commander. He did eat less than the average human, but that was probably because he was so self conscious about his own weight that he didn't dare eat anything unhealthy or over his limit.

He huffed heavily, flopping down onto his bed. He had gotten something to eat, but it wasn't much. He would still be hungry, but at least he had alcohol waiting for him in the fridge. He got up reluctantly after about 3 minutes of deciding whether or not he actually wanted to get undressed. He stood there dazed for a minute in his pyjamas, considering a beer or the whole bottle of vodka. He didn't know which one sounded better. But, perhaps just sleep would help him. He shook his head, exhaling heavily. He had two shots of vodka before flopping back down on his bed and falling asleep after a few short minutes. No night shift. Hallelujah!

Swift tossed again, another pain shooting up his spine. He couldn't feel anything. All he knew was that this nightmare was one that he'd get frequently. One to do with all that torture he endured. It was horrible. He shuddered, sobbing softly before he saw light.

He awoke. This time, his face was red and wet with tears, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, and some of his feathers had fallen out. Stress, likely. He sat up, shakily breathing and shivering all over. His hands trembled as he held them up, and before he could do anything, he was sick.

The bad dreams had come back. The memories that haunted him. He shook his head, and grabbed for the bottle of vodka. Then, he stopped. It was okay. He didn't need to drink, he just needed to go and talk to someone he knew would be able to calm him down.

Swallow could help!

Swallow sat in his room, surrounded by research papers and books, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His deep green eyes scanned across multiple maps, locations and lists. He pushed his long blond hair back over his shoulder again, ruffling the shaven sides and pushing papers aside whilst muttering German curses under his breath. Clearly, he was not in the mood. Swift knocked first, and the German called to say the door was open. Swift pushed it gently and went to sit on the other's bed.

Swallow looked up, a concerned expression sweeping over him. He let out a worried sigh and went to sit next to Swift. Swift's face was stained with tears, as he hadn't thought to try and make himself look presentable for his partner.

"Oh, babe. What happened? You've been crying, haven't you? What did Bronev do to you?" Swallow asked, moving Swift's loose strands of hair out of his face and having a good look at him. He was still in his agency pyjamas. They were plain white, the top with long sleeves and the Targent logo on the back and then the bottoms, the same white, the trousers stamped with his number. It felt like prison seeing that number.

"He...didn't do anything. I -." Swift stopped, letting out a cry and grabbing at his partner. Swallow held him back tightly, trying to calm him down, shushing him gently.

"Nightmare?" He asked, tucking back more strands of Swift's hair and rubbing his back gently. Swift nodded. Those nightmares were frequent. If only the blasted memories would go away. For now, he was happy enough to be sat with his partner, being held and calmed. It felt better that way.

Swift finally felt less scared, but then it was time for work at that point. He probably had to go through the same thing all over again, or fill in for the time he had missed the night before. He huffed, and left Swallow to resume his work.

He got dressed as quickly as he could, sloppily tying his bootlaces and racing down the stairs. If he had forgotten anything then that would be his own fault, but he was in a hurry to get to the office. For some odd reason, he wanted to be there as early as possible so he could show the commander he was always ready for work, even if that wasn't always the case.

He reported to the commander, smiling. Bronev looked up at him and nodded.

"There you are, Agent Swift. Right, today I want you out target shooting, then to go and run some errands I have no time for and finally, get yourself to the infirmary, you look very ill." He said.

Swift hadn't looked in the mirror recently, but judging by what was said, he was probably as white as a sheet. He glanced over at the mirror to the right of him and let out a small gasp. He had dark circles under his eyes, the skin around his scar looked more irritated than usual, and he looked blatantly exhausted. Bronev let out a heavy sigh and stood up, pulling Swift into a somewhat awkward hug.

"Get to the infirmary. You're clearly ill." He said. The way he had said it made Swift think it was a command, and he didn't want to go to the infirmary. It was just the effects from alcohol and his nightmare.

"No, sir. I assure you I'm fine, sir!" Swift answered, straightening himself out and trying to look more tidy. Bronev shrugged.

"That's fine by me. Now, go and relay these messages."

Swift took the paper from Bronev with what needed to be said to each person, and although he understood none of it, he was glad they would.

He took another turn before stopping, standing bolt upright like an alert dog. Across from the person he had to deliver a message to, was Sparrow. His ex. Sparrow was a bad mouthed American with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. He always had a smirk or a grin, and the way he used to treat Swift would have given anyone nightmares.

He noticed the blonde standing there and grinned, moving over to him slowly.

"Hello, Swift. Let's see what you've got there? Reports?" Sparrow snatched away the papers Swift was holding and went through them, chuckling.

"Lovely, I'll do this for you, and a lot faster too." He smiled, and made off before Swift had a chance to fight him for the papers back.

Swift groaned. That was his plans ruined. If Bronev realised he hadn't done all the work himself, then he was in deep trouble. He kicked at the ground before falling onto his knees, letting out a frustrated scream. He hated Sparrow. Well, hated being the soft word for it. He abhorred that man. He wanted to watch the idiot suffer, but there was no such luck. Stupid man.

There was no use in being angered by it, he would just have to report back to office and explain what had happened. He would have to run though, he just saw Sparrow, skipping along like an angel, wearing a grin on his face.

"Sir!" Swift exclaimed, saluting. Bronev smiled, looking up at the other. His eyes went narrow.

"The meaning of _this_ , Swift?" He asked, gesturing the the man's messy uniform. Swift couldn't say he had noticed, but he chuckled.

"Sorry, sir. I was in a hurry, sir." He said. Bronev nodded slowly.

There was a click, and the office door opened. Both men looked at it attentively. Sparrow entered, and looked slightly fazed. Perhaps he hadn't seen Swift dash past.

"What...how'd you get here so fast?" He asked. Swift tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger and smirked. Sparrow passed forward the papers, each line had been crossed off, completed.

"Done. Swift was being too slow." Sparrow said. Swift went to object, but had a hand clapped over his mouth as soon as he could let out a squeak.

"He was moping, too, sir. He says this work is stupid, sir. He wants punishment, sir." Sparrow said, smiling sweetly to Bronev. He looked at Swift with a smirk, finally removing his hand from over the man's mouth and making his exit.

Bronev glared at Swift. This was not good at all. Not only did Bronev now know that he hadn't done the work himself, but he also had a reason to hurt the other.

"Is that true, Swift? You'd like me to punish you?" Bromev asked, watching the way Swift acted. His hands were trembling again, and he seemed to be sweating.

"No, sir. Please don't hurt me, sir." Swift gulped, pushing back hair and trying to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

"I just have a question, Swift. Why did he do your work? Hm? Answer me that and I shall let you go with merely a slap to the wrists."

"He took those papers from me, sir."

"And you didn't think to grab them back? Idiotic fool!"

"Sorry, sir." Swift lowered his head, as if he were guilty. Bronev still glared at him, watching carefully.

"And so you should be. One day, you'll redeem yourself. For now, paperwork." Bronev watched the other's expression as he said the word, and Swift let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"Again?" He asked.

Bronev scoffed at the remark. Usually, Swift grinned and bared the work he was given, but apparently he didn't want to today.

"Just get it finished."

Swift groaned, leaning his head against the desk and wrapping both his arms around his stomach. He hadn't eaten for at least 5 hours, and that was starting to catch up with him. He looked around, sure that he could sneak out the back door of the office whilst Bronev was distracted with his task. He bit his lip, and attempted to sneak backwards. No such luck, however, as the chair scraped against the floor with a rather loud squeak. Bronev swung round in his chair and glared at the other. Swift could just _feel_ his stare.

"Sorry." He muttered, moving back inwards and trying to ignore his hunger pains. Bronev nodded, passing it off and returning to his work. God, when would this shift be over? Swift thought to himself.

Finally, he was allowed to go, and with his stomach aching from the lack of food, he was glad. He would have to do the night shift this night, though, as there were no excuses this time. Great, 8 hours in the dark with Plover and Magpie. Magpie was the decent one, who actually did his _job_ , but he did have an occasional laugh with Plover. Needless to say, Swift was not impressed. He'd have to go and talk to Swallow, first. At least he had his partner to keep his sanity for a short while.

He jumped off the ledge to his block of flats, rolling as he got up. It was always good to practice his skills as a junior assassin. He groaned at the thought of having to climb all the stairs though. However, as luck would have it, Swallow was sat on the opposite wall, smoking a cigarette.

"Babe!" Swift called, trying to get the other's attention. Swallow's eyebrows raised in surprise when he saw Swift, and he jumped down, smiling. He stamped out his cigarette quickly.

"You on the night shift?" He asked, pulling Swift into a hug, if it could be called that. He placed his left hand gently on Swift's hip with a grin. God, did he have to act like that? Swift sighed.

"Unfortunately, yes. Now, I promise we'll go for it in the morning. For now, hands off, baby."

Swift swung himself into the empty chair next to Magpie, exhaling heavily. The brunette looked at him with a worried expression, perhaps assuming that his second-in-command wasn't feeling up to the task of the night shift. It was a boring one, that was for sure.

For one, the uniform was all black, and you have to stay very quiet. Then there was the fact that all three people that did the shift were situated in a lookout tower that was either boiling hot or freezing cold, and at this time of year, it became sweltering.

Magpie wiped the sweat off of his forehead and kept himself leant against the desk in front of them all, watching the grounds carefully. Plover was leant back on his chair, his feet up on the desk and glaring out of the side window with his eyes like daggers, focused on whoever was out there. As for Swift, he was fanning himself with a loose piece of paper he had found, trying not to be sick, or pass out at that.

"When's this shift end? I think I'm going to faint." Swift whispered, a hint of urgency in his voice. Plover stood up just then, suddenly more interested in Swift than the people outside.

"D'ya need to go the infirmary, sir?" He asked. Swift remembered then that he was called 'sir', too. It felt odd, but then, he was far too focused on trying not to pass out from the heat.

He nodded, his vision becoming a little blurry. His head pounded horribly, and if he didn't leave now, then he knew what would happen next.

Swift thanked Owl that morning after he had woken up in the infirmary. He could have just been taken home, but no, the two that he had been with thought it would have been better for him to see Owl. They were most likely right, though, he felt a little better. But he was soon back into a foul mood when he realised that he was on guard duty that morning. Great. It was already a bad day and he hadn't even got to the Obsidian Tower yet. He'd best be on his way there, then.

He slammed the door open, ticketing his name and slumping down into his seat. Bronev looked over at him, eyebrows raised.

"Do you need to be so violent?" He asked, watching Swift carefully. The blond slammed his fist down on the desk.

"Yes."

Bronev chuckled, beckoning the man over. Swift rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, but there was no use in disagreeing. After all, he _knew_ what Bronev was capable of.

Bronev pressed his thumbs against Swift's lower back, which usually calmed him down.

"You're stressed, aren't you? Sleep more often and maybe you won't be so cranky." Bronev grinned, before passing the man some paperwork after he'd turned round to face him. Swift willed himself not to scream when he looked at it, and returned to his desk. Bronev was right, he needed more sleep, but on such a tight schedule, he wouldn't get it.

Swift flopped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling after a long day. What was he doing anymore? He knew he was slacking from the day he began feeling irritated. It was like he didn't want to do anything anymore, but if he told Bronev he didn't feel like it, or the man saw that he was slacking, then he'd do something about it.

God, he hated this. He didn't bother getting changed, he just threw his clothes off and got in bed. He'd be in trouble at the morning roll call, but it was a small price to pay in the hot weather.

The alarm went off that morning, and god, what he'd do just to stay in bed. He grabbed his jacket and shoes and made for an exit. At this point, he didn't even _care_ what Bronev had to say, he just wanted to go back to bed. And soon, at that.

He stood in line next to everyone else beginning with an 'S'. Swallow was stood somewhat near him, Swan just in-between them. She bit her lip after she saw Swift, clearly worried for how told off he'd be.

Bronev made his way down the line, assigning everyone to something and watching them as they slumped off, or hurried off, depending on their mood.

"Swallow, guard duty down by the quad lot, yes?" He commanded. Swallow saluted with a sharp nod and was on his merry way.

"Swan, take up third street, the left one off of Wiley." He said to her, watching for her signed response. She signed, 'will do, sir', and walked off briskly, not even sparing a glance behind her.

"As for you, Swift. You've been slacking recently and I can't say I'm much of a fan. I expected better from you and you didn't even get _dressed_."

"I know, sir." Swift said, looking pretty confident, but he also seemed to have a cheeky glint in his eye. It was subtle, but he wanted to laugh badly.

"I'll give you a chance to redeem have two weeks to do so before we go to Misthallery, and you'll be driving to further redeem your efforts as an agent. Am I clear?" Bronev asked, looking up at Swift. He tried not to snigger at the painful height difference, but saluted and agreed. Great, he'd have to drive. He hated driving.

Swift had a few weeks until he had to go to Misthallery. The only problem was, he was supposed to do some expert work before they made their way there, and with how tired he was, he was sure he wasn't able to do so.

There were piles of paperwork to be done, as well as the target shooting and ranged weapons practice. Swift felt like dying right about now, knowing he wouldn't do his best. He needed a nap before.

Swift woke up about an hour later, checking the time on his watch before he decided what to do first. He'd tend to the paperwork, of course. The way he seemed to efficiently do everything in a few minutes impressed Bronev. Naturally, Swift was an organised person, which matched the bird he was named after, as well as his efficiency when doing such organisational work.

The office was cold as usual, the ceiling fan most likely on higher due to how hot it had been recently. Swift assumed it was always rainy or was bleak in the Nest, but the humidity a few days earlier had made him feel horribly faint. He was thankful that the office had a fan. He gathered up the unfinished paperwork and made to writing down the needed details. They had to be stamped, too, and that took him a while. He just hoped his arm wouldn't ache again.

Swift slid over to the first cabinet, opening most of the drawers to be more efficient. He was always good at filing things, as he'd had a few tips from Barn Owl, who worked down in the archives. He liked her almost as much as he liked her sister, Tawny Owl, who was one of the nurses in the infirmary. She was ever so helpful when it came to him. Swift always found himself covered in scrapes, bumps and burns from everywhere, and Tawny was always there to help him out.

He gently closed the last drawer and saluted to his commander, who had just got back from interrogating a young agent. Swift hadn't really been looking out of the window, and due to the height of the Obsidian Tower, he couldn't really tell anyway. He assumed. Bronev nodded approvingly at Swift, watching as the boy perked up. It was rare to see Swift smile, but most people knew that when he did, it was a little awkward and perhaps a little cute.

"Well, Swift. Good work. Now, I suggest you practice with that revolver of yours. You might be a little rusty. Off with you, lad."

Swift got down to the target range, where Magpie and Albatross seemed to be focused on their practice. Swift hadn't seen Albatross in a while, but the man was sort of hard to miss. At 6 foot 5 he was an easy person to spot in the Nest. That and his hair was a very bright blond, almost similar to Golden Eagle's. The two of them were rivals, however. It seemed like it anyway. Golden Eagle being a patriotic American and Albatross being a proud Canadian, the two of them always appeared to be at each other's throats. Gladly, Magpie was there instead. Magpie was sort of short, a lot shorter than Albatross. He was only about 5 foot 5, but he didn't mind. He was a perfect agent, anyway. A professional knife thrower, too.

Magpie swung around, another knife hitting the target wall and sticking into it perfectly. He gave a small air fist and jumped slightly. Surely that had to have been the third knife flung against the wall, but the precision and angle of it was so accurate and clean, that it was almost as if he had walked over and pushed the knife in.

He noticed Swift, of course, as he went to retrieve his small throwing daggers. He grinned.

"Did you see that, sir?" He asked. Swift nodded briefly and sharply. He was impressed by the sheer skill that Magpie harboured. It was half impressive and half scary. He was dangerous as hell with those knives.

Swift held himself in a similar way to Magpie, poised so he could aim at the wall with ease. Not all agents learnt the same way, of course, but there were some that picked up techniques from others, and Swift was one of those agents.

He lifted up his revolver, watching his aim and positioning carefully before firing at the wall. It was an okay shot, but not one that would meet Bronev's standards. He tried again. And again. And again.

Finally, he was satisfied with the work he had done, but for some reason, it didn't match what Bronev had asked for. He would have to be up bright and early for the morning drill, and actually be properly dressed. If he failed that, then he only had one week to redeem himself in Bronev's eyes. This was going to be harder than he thought.

The morning drill bell went of at five in the morning, just like usual, like every agent was used to. Swift had made sure that he was ready this time, and darted out of bed to get a quick, brisk and cold shower before getting dressed. In his haste, he forgot his neck scarf, but as it wasn't really part of his uniform, he assumed it wouldn't matter all too much. He darted down the stairs as fast as possible to get to where everyone usually met, and found his place next to Swan. She signed 'hello' happily, watching Swift organise himself. Swan was a nice woman. She had lost her ability to talk due to an accident, but no one ever mentioned it. Swift was glad he knew her. She was tall with this wavy blond hair that sometimes he was jealous of. She was also, according to her jacket flag, from Belarus.

Just a few moments later, Bronev walked down the row, assessing everyone's uniform and their cleanliness before giving them a task and waving them away. He got to Swift and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Well, you got dressed. I will say, though, Swift, that your work is still lacking. You have a week to sort yourself out before we make off for Misthallery. I want you to go to training today. I've pit you against a valuable agent, and I'm sure this will be good practice for you. Am I clear?" Bronev asked, watching how Swift reacted. He tried his hardest not to groan before nodding sharply and saluting. Great, just who exactly was he up against?

He got to the room where combat training was usually done and took off his boots and jacket before entering, leaving them by the door like the other, already present, agent had done.

He looked up and gasped. Sparrow. This was bad, real bad. He new Sparrow was only 5 foot 5, but that man was capable of knocking Albatross over, despite the Canadian's sheer size. And if he could knock over Albatross, he could knock over Swift. Swift backed up against the door, shaking his head. His breathing was more shaky and he tried to pull himself together to fight the other.

"Swift. Nice surprise." Sparrow grinned. Swift pushed himself off the door and ran at the other, knocking him to the floor, his hands against the other's neck, threatening to grasp tighter if the man tried anything.

"You touch me and I'll kill you!" He growled. Sparrow put his hands up in surrender, watching Swift's every move to see if the boy let his guard down. He didn't, it seemed. He clearly knew that Sparrow would try anything as soon as he let go. He pinned his arms to the ground and hit him in the stomach before getting up and assuming his victory.

Later, he was back in the office. One, for paperwork and two, for an appraisal. Clearly Bronev had pitted him against a good target, as he was proud of how Swift had gone against him. The only problem was, it wasn't enough to redeem himself. He would have to try harder. Though there were plenty of opportunities, the only thing stopping him was that he only had three days left to show Bronev that he wasn't slacking.

He hadn't kept his momentum through doing paperwork, and so that was a rung knocked off the ladder. He put his head in his hands, trying to think. What to do?

He looked over at Bronev, letting out a heavy sigh. That man was so high maintenance that Swift just didn't know _what_ to do. There had to be a way to please his stern boss. He swore to himself that he had done all of his work to a T. Still, though, Bronev wasn't impressed.

"Sir." Swift said after a while, fiddling with his belt.

"Yes, agent?" Bronev asked, not looking up from his book. That was normal. He was far too into his work to care about looking at the person he was conversing with.

"How exactly do you expect me to redeem myself?" Swift asked, leaning his head in his hands again. Bronev grinned slyly.

"Well, Skylar." He said. Swift felt the colour drain from his face, his heart dropping. That was his legal name. How Bronev knew was worrying to him, but surely it had to be written in his files somewhere, so it wasn't _too_ much of a shock.

"Don't call me that, sir." Swift said, almost defensively. Bronev nodded, as confirmation that he wouldn't do it again.

"Swift. You did redeem yourself, but it's always fun to see you working so hard. You should try it more often."

"What do you...mean?" Swift asked, looking a little taken aback. He had worked his butt off, and _had_ redeemed himself, but then Bronev thought it was suitable not to say a word. Swift felt as if he had been kept in the dark.

"Oh, you see Swift, you're my second-in-command. I had to see if I could trust that you weren't slacking. I knew that you just needed sleep, naturally. I knew it from the start, but teenagers never listen, do they? Just because you know yourself, does _not_ mean you know best. However, well done. We'll be going to Misthallery in a few hours. Don't let me down." Bronev said.

So, Swift had done everything perfectly. It was just that Bronev wanted to _see_ that from him. And after all, Swift was always a punctual agent that never stepped back from work. He would just have to learn some proper time management...and perhaps not stay up all night with his boyfriends.


End file.
